One Date
by sharky-chan
Summary: [SolKy] Takes place after the events of A Highway that Never Ends.  Ky doesn't know it, but he's going on a date.


**One Date**

Guilty Gear belongs to Sammy Studios and Daisuke Ishiwatari**  
**

**Notes:  
**This is a birthday present for a friend, and takes place after the events of "A Highway that Never Ends."

* * *

Ky cannot say what exactly he feels as he weaves between tables and patrons, trying to ignore the stickiness of the bar's floor beneath him. Certainly there is the old familiar twinge of mistrust and hatred. Rather than time and distance dulling it, the feeling of betrayal has grown into something sharper and deeper; the mere thought of Sol's indolent smirk sets his teeth on edge.

But something else tempers that feeling and provides a counterpoint to hatred – uncertainty or perhaps curiosity.

Sol has never asked Ky for anything. When he wants something, he takes it; Fireseal remains a bitter reminder of that. When he seeks Ky's attention, he comes at unexpected times, rude and demanding as if Ky is imposing on him. And if he doesn't want something, he disappears – out of sight, but rarely out of mind.

The pattern of their relationship, strained as it may be, is at least familiar, and Ky regards Sol's sudden request for a private meeting with lingering suspicion. Yet no amount of suspicion can stop him from accepting. Sol may break the pattern, but Ky cannot.

The police captain scans the noisy bar and at last sees Sol slouched in a darkened corner booth. His relaxed slump seems natural enough to be nothing more than an irregularity in the shadow's textures. Only when Ky moves closer does he notice the coppery glint of eyes that burn just a little more than natural. A little more than human.

Not for the first time, Ky tries to recall the form of the beast that lurks on the edge of his memory. Two months ago, someone or something saved him in the MK2 factory, and while the images he conjures seem more dream than reality, the pain lingering in his side and shoulder is real enough.

Even after Chipp Zanuff brought him to the IPF medic, Ky remained unmoving and weak from blood loss, but he knows that winged monster was no hallucination brought on by pain or sporadic consciousness. Ky knows with a detective's instinct that Sol is connected to the factory incident.

The police captain feels the kind of giddiness he associates with battle as he slips into the seat across from Sol. The bounty hunter, seemingly indifferent to Ky's presence, only grants him a curt nod before returning to his drink.

This does not faze Ky, and in a low voice, he murmurs, "Sol, why did you ask me to come here?"

Sol's glittering eyes, burning somewhere between red and gold, flicker away from his drink and regard Ky with increasing boredom. His voice is a low rasp as he drawls, "Huh. Didn't think that far ahead. Figured we'd catch up on old times. The good old Order days, or some shit. Wanna drink?"

Ky shakes his head in annoyance. "Don't waste my time, Badguy. The only reason I'm not arresting you here and now is because you helped the IPF with the MK2 investigation, and whatever your motivations, I am grateful for that."

"Oh good," Sol mutters. "I have Captain Kiske's gratitude. Just what I always wanted for Christmas. And good job with that promotion. You did some sharp work, soldier."

The mocking salute Sol tosses him makes Ky's cheeks flush, and he regrets coming here to endure Sol's condescension. The police captain begins to rise, wanting to leave before Sol further insults him, but suddenly a large hand clamps around his wrist – not painful but still unyielding.

Ky narrows his eyes and almost reaches for Thunderseal, but Sol's expression is neither a challenge nor a threat. Instead it remains an unchanging mask that Ky cannot decipher.

When Sol releases his wrist, he continues in an irritable murmur. "I wanted to see how you are. After you took on all them MK2s, you weren't doing so hot, and I figured..."

The older man's voice is soft with annoyance rather than worry as he trails off, but Ky can imagine his words are meant to show concern. Ky can also imagine how hard it is for Sol to admit such weakness, and once again he reassesses his opinion of Sol.

With a thoughtful nod, Ky picks up Sol's now empty glass. He speaks in a voice that is almost gentle.

"I'll get you another. Okay?"

When Ky returns from the bar, whiskey in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, Sol has an intent look on his face, eyes following the alcohol with renewed interest. Ky settles into the wooden bench, before taking a sip of his wine.

The drink is harsh from immature tannins and low quality grapes, but better than the other options in this kind of place. It helps wet his throat, and Ky at last asks the question that has nagged him since he woke up in the hospital after the destruction of the Neft Dashlari.

"Sol, were you...were you the one who saved me?"

"What're you talking about?" Sol's face remains blank, but Ky knows that could mean anything.

"Back in the factory, right before I lost consciousness, I thought I saw something." Ky keeps his eyes locked on Sol's face, but the older man somehow manages to avoid eye contact. Ky continues, "It didn't look human at the time, but now I think...that was you, wasn't it?"

Sol's voice betrays nothing as he replies, "And if it was?"

"Then...I'd owe you my life."

Sol arches an eyebrow, more sardonic than incredulous. "And you're okay with that?"

Ky's fingers tighten around the stem of his glass, and he drops his gaze. Although he has asked himself the same question many times since the incident, he has yet to find a satisfactory answer.

At last he decides, "No. No, I'm not."

Sol lets out a bark of something harsh and feral that might be laughter. He shrugs. "Don't matter anyway, 'cuz it wasn't me. Guess you'll have to look somewhere else for your prince charming."

Ky continues to stare at the grain patterns of the table. He chooses to ignore the other's jab and manages in a soft voice barely above a whisper, "Sol. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For nothing."

"Then don't thank me." Sol drains his glass in one gulp then rises. "Finish up, kid. We're outta here."

Ky takes a few more sips from his glass before turning to follow. When they leave the warmth of the bar for the street's damp autumn air, his grimace at the wine's aftertaste turns into a faint shiver. While he pulls at the collar of his jacket, Sol, seemingly oblivious to the cold, saunters down the street with hands loose at his sides.

A strange cease-fire settles between them, and Ky feels content to walk in silence with his one-time comrade. Although Sol's behavior often bordered on insubordination during their Crusade years, Ky has always felt an inexplicable connection to him. Part of him wants to understand what Kliff saw in Sol, while the other wants to make the former war hero into something Ky can understand. In all these years, he has never succeeded at either.

Ky studies the other's back – shoulders slouched with relaxed grace yet still projecting confidence – and begins to lose himself to distant memories. Only when they reach the edge of a bridge leading to the seedier part of town does Ky call out, "Hey, Sol! Where are we going?"

Sol stops and gives Ky a moment to catch up before he shrugs. "Beats the shit out of me. You decide. It's your date after all."

Ky takes a moment to comprehend Sol's words, but when he does, he stumbles to a halt.

"Wha...what did you say?"

Sol pulls out a cigarette and lighter, then repeats himself with cool nonchalance, "It's your date. You decide."

"What are you talking about?!" Ky does not succeed in keeping his voice low, and Sol gives him an irritable glare before taking a long drag.

"Figured I'd take you out on a date after all you've been through." He exhales with another shrug. "But if you're gonna screech like some kinda banshee about it, I'm gonna call the whole thing off."

Ky takes a step toward Sol, careful to avoid speaking in any way that could imply "screech." "Listen, Sol. We are not on some kind of _date_." The word comes out with such distaste that Ky's stomach turns.

"Sure we are," Sol replies. His lips curl into a feral smile around the cigarette, as he moves into Ky's personal space.

Up close, the detective gets a full whiff of the cigarette – the sweet tobacco smell mingling with the acrid scent of tar – and Ky is grateful when a cool night breeze disperses the smoke from around his face. It does not disperse the sense of predatory menace that radiates from Sol now that his full attention is focused on Ky.

The bounty hunter continues as he leans in, "And since I'm feeling so generous today, you can take me wherever you want – some gay ass opera or the park. Shit, I'll feed the fuckin' ducks if you really want me to."

Sol runs his thumb down Ky's cheek, and the younger man distantly notes that Sol's sword calluses mirror his own. But then the other's sharp canines, gleaming in the lamplight, seem to fill his vision, and Ky cannot quite pull away.

He wonders if this is what birds sees before the cobra strikes, and he mumbles, "It's too late for opera tickets, and ducks are sleeping at this time of –"

Sol interrupts him with a brush of lips against his own. Given the nature of their conversation, it is not entirely unexpected, but the sudden contact brings Ky back to reality and he jerks away, the fire returning to his eyes.

For a moment he only scrubs at his lips with the back of his sleeve, and then Ky is walking away with large angry steps. Sol is by his side in an instant – careless panther stride easily matching Ky's jerky stomps.

"Don't be such a wanker, Kiske." Sol speaks without any real malice, but the words drip with his typical mockery, and Ky is angrier with himself for not anticipating this. Sol continues, "You've had a crush on me since our days in the Order. I'd have to be blind not to notice."

"'Our days' ended when you stole Fireseal, Sol." The words come out between gritted teeth, and it takes all of Ky's self-control not to reach for Thunderseal. He cannot deny the youthful admiration he felt toward Sol in their early days together, but that Sol still remembers makes him blush with shame and fury.

"You still can't get enough of me," Sol maintains with a smirk.

"You're insufferably full of yourself," Ky retorts.

"Only because I'm right."

Ky cannot tell if it is the words or the accompanying smirk that finally makes him stop in place and pivot on his heels to face Sol. The bounty hunter also stops, but he puffs on his cigarette in contentment.

"Sol. maybe once I respected you because of your strength, but I have never approved of your methods," Ky hisses between clenched teeth. "And now...now just when I think you are doing the right thing – that you might have some sense of justice – you turn around and treat everything – me, the law – like your personal joke."

With a thoughtful frown, Sol flicks the cigarette onto the damp pavement and grinds it out with his foot. "The law and justice ain't the same thing, kid."

"Then what is justice?" Ky exclaims in anger. "Stealing from the people who trust you? Fighting humans as you should fight the Gears? You like to pretend that you're some lone hero fighting the good fight, while all the rest of us are just too stupid to get it and do anything useful.

"The truth is that everything you do, you've done for yourself. That's not heroism; that's selfishness. Maybe Sir Kliff saw something more in you, but all I see is egoism. Even after all these years, that's all you are." Ky meets Sol's angry red gaze with his own steely blue eyes. "And don't call me 'kid.' I've fought too hard and too long to deserve your condescension, Sol."

Ky has never seen Sol at a loss for words before, but the bounty hunter is silent for a long moment. Ky can hear the flow of the river far beneath them and the muffled sounds of the city's nightlife, but the timpani of his heartbeats obscure them. The blood rushing through his ears makes his breaths come in short, angry hisses.

"It must be nice to live in such a simple fucking world," Sol growls at last. "Tell me, Kiske, how much does it piss you off that I don't fit in it?"

"A lot," Ky growls back, and because he isn't thinking, or maybe because he is, he throws himself against Sol, tangling his fingers through unkempt strands of hair so he can pull Sol deeper into a fierce kiss.

Sol stumbles forward and Ky feels himself stagger back under the sudden weight, but both men are careful to keep the kiss from breaking. When Ky releases the bounty hunter, his face is flushed, his lips sting and he realizes kissing his arch-nemesis is a very bad idea.

Yet he does not pull away. As much as he hates it, he has always wanted this. He has always desired such intimacy with Sol, and in the moment it seems as inevitable as all his other life choices – to fight against the Gears, to protect those around him, to live in God's service. Sol's hold on him has always been inexorable and cruel, but Ky no longer has the will to fight it.

He looks at Sol's eyes – rusty brown in the city lights – and knows without a doubt that he is the demon from the factory. He hates the other man for it, but that doesn't stop him from pressing his mouth against Sol's and kissing hard and rough so that the older man can taste his displeasure.

If Sol objects, he expresses it by meeting Ky's kisses with equal ferocity, pushing and nipping with enough strength that Ky knows he will have bruises in the morning. Sol's fingers are warm and unyielding through the fabric of Ky's cloak, but Ky is not scared. He is angry and frustrated and maybe just a little in love, and that makes it so much worse.

Ky is only dimly aware that they are still on the bridge and the railing is pressing into his back – that city life still moves around them and that he should really not be doing this. He makes a slight noise of protest, of uncertainty, and then Sol pulls him closer – so close that he might as well be engulfed in flame – and now he no longer cares.

He is falling and only Sol is around to catch him.

* * *

The walk home is lonely, but Ky has fallen too deep in thought to feel the cold or notice the quiet. As if from a great distance he sees the other pedestrians, who stumble and weave their ways home, but his mind's eye remains on Sol. Sol, who got what he came for and slipped back into the darkness, leaving Ky alone.

Ky does not notice someone coming out of a back alley, and he jerks back to the present only when their shoulders clip together. The person grunts as Ky hurries to apologize.

"I'm terribly sorry. Excuse me!"

He begins to walk on, but stops in his tracks when the other person exclaims, "Kiske!"

Even after turning to get a closer look, Ky takes a minute to place the other man. Dressed in street clothes rather than ninja garb, Ky almost does not recognize him.

"Chipp Zanuff?" He asks in surprise.

"What the fuck are you doing in this part of town, Kiske?" Despite his cursing, Chipp sounds genuinely curious rather than angry or indignant.

Ky flushes, but replies, "N-nothing." But because that kind of nothing is obviously something, he admits, "Seeing someone."

"Well be careful, man. We don't like coppers around here, 'n I don't wanna have to save yer ass a second time."

"I must thank you for that, Mr. Zan – I mean, Chipp." Ky corrects himself, remembering the ninja's distaste for formalities. With hesitation, he begins to ask, "Chipp?"

"Yeah?"

Ky debates if he should question Chipp about what he saw in the factory. Chipp disappeared before giving his statement to the IPF, but Ky is certain that if anyone knows, Chipp does. At last he gives up and shakes his head. He learned everything he needed to know earlier this evening.

"Never mind."

Chipp turns and continues walking, but Ky blurts out before he can stop himself, "I hate dates."

The frustration in his voice surprises Ky himself, but Chipp accepts the non sequitur, and he gives the police captain an understanding nod.

"Fucking A, man. Fucking A."

Chipp walks on without another word, but he waves over his shoulder – a casual acknowledgment and the friendliest gesture Chipp has ever given him. Ky turns with a shake of his head. He manages as best he can, but the curse word still sounds polite as it stumbles off his tongue.

"Fucking A."

He walks the rest of the way home in silence.


End file.
